


Easier to Stay

by HiroMyStory



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: AU from a Good Day to Die, F/M, Free Will, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiroMyStory/pseuds/HiroMyStory
Summary: Lucifer contemplates in the shadow of the Revelation that Chloe is a miracle.@Arlome--you know why, and a deal is a deal. ;)





	Easier to Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arlome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/gifts).

> Filling the "hospital" prompt for LuciferBingo.

Every single moment since he’d met the Detective ran through his mind, Dad-damn his eidetic memory. Every single one. His heart rose and plummeted. What was real and what wasn’t? How could he ever know? And did it even matter? One truth was clear.

Dad had put her in his path.

Was it to teach him a lesson? Show him where he belonged? Or something else? Dad’s ‘Plan’ was as opaque as ever. And as omnipresent. All Lucifer knew was that, at least as far he was concerned, it wasn’t a good Plan.

He let the photograph—a smiling Penelope and a radiant Amenadiel—fall to the floor. When he looked up he saw but did not entirely take in his Mum’s transcendent smile and Maze’s uncharacteristic expression. He would not name it pity; he would not.

His feet took him to his car and his car took him to her door without him ever making a conscious decision. _Did you know_, he demanded, although he knew she did not. She was a trap not an accomplice. He knew it in his gut.

When she looked up at him with fear in her eyes—_something’s wrong_—everything slid out his ear like the poison it was and he focused all of his energy on the one thing that mattered: Saving her.

When it was done, his heart—it was a physical pain. But to say that was all would be a deceit worthy of his Father, and he would not lie like that. Certainly not about her. His heart hurt because it had stopped and had been shocked again and again until it had to bear an irregular beat and then a steadier drum. His heart hurt because he knew the truth. His heart hurt because everything had been a lie and the truth and yet still a lie.

He sat at her bedside, waiting for her to wake.

What would it even mean? What would he say? What would he be to her? What would she be to him? He wished he could unbite the apple. Unknow the truth. He toyed with the blanket tucked over her.

He should leave. Run far away. If not forever, then long enough that she was not to him and he was not to her. But he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

He knew his Father had _won_.

_You look Heaven sent_, he told her.

He left her bedside.

He didn’t go far.

He smoked, dragging on one cigarette after another in the hospital parking lot.

Had he no freedom after all? His Dad—Her. He had thought they—she and him—were Real. Real as in he felt something new he’d never felt that rose and grew and grew like some damn weed that had taken root in him which he hadn’t bothered to choke out until it was smothering everything else in his chest and it was just her, her, her. Was that what love was? Humans described it in so many varied and confusing ways. All he knew was it had felt Real— his and hers and theirs and that was the grandest of lies. 

He should leave. It was on his tongue to curse his Mum and his Dad. One for pushing him into this trap and the other for laying it; One for thinking him a pawn and the other for thinking him less than that.

But he did not leave, instead lighting another cigarette.

His Dad knew he would be standing here today. His Dad had Planned he would meet her. His Dad had Planned he would _care_; his Dad had planned that she would care. And that was no small thing because he cared so, so much. Cared beyond what he hithertofore knew existed. Cared like the space between the stars expanding ever, ever outward.

That was no accident.

And if his Father planned this, what else had he Planned?

The answer was bleak. The grandest fall in the history of time and everything, everything, everything that came after. He’d fought for freewill, but the only conclusion that seemed to fit the facts was that he’d never, ever achieved it, and that was a crushing weight indeed. 

He snorted, laughed. Curled in on himself. Curled over the arms wrapped around his belly. And laughed and laughed and laughed, every rebellious thought part of the Plan from the start. The bitter taste of that fruit spilled over his tongue even as he laughed some more.

He considered the potential paths laid out in front of him like glimmers of light. He could continue to fight, but, if he did, fighting would only be because it was what his Father had ordained. Fighting was surrender, too. Surrender-surrender, well, that was the same, but it felt more…honest. If it was _all_ a lie, maybe his only choice was to be honest in _that_.

_We’ll talk later, yeah?_

He’d bobbed his head to imply he’d agreed even when he had not, but what was the point in fighting? _His thoughts were spinning. If his Dad could do this, He could do almost anything; Each of his choices way, way, way back when when the Universe was young could hardly be less suspect._ If he left now, that was probably the Plan. If he stayed, the same.

Staying was easier.

The next day, he sat by her bed. He didn’t say much, because he wasn’t sure what to say. Whatever he said was probably what he was meant to say, after all.

She asked if he was alright. He bobbed his head to imply that he was when he was not, he was not, he was not.

No, he was what he was and she was what she was. His Father had created Her. Perhaps sculpted Her into what He needed, but She was human, Lucifer was sure of that, at least. She must have freewill. Even if She was Perfect for him, just like his Father had intended. She slept, and Lucifer let his head fall onto Her blanket-clad arm, all wrapped in hospital neutrals.

She was free in a way that he was not. His Father meant him to rebel or to surrender, and if he surrendered it was surely what his Father willed. (And how could he have been so foolish as to believe he had had freedom all this time, these many, many years, these eons, even. And how foolish could he have been to have thought he’d won even in that small way as he was cast down to play a role he knew now his Father had always intended. The fruit was ashes on his lips now.)

She was free; he was not. If he chose that—to grab on to, to surrender to, Her Freedom—it was his Father’s will, just as it was if he did not. He had no choice even when it felt he was on a knife’s edge, and it was a bitter, bitter draught knowing whatever it was he chose it was what he always would have chosen.

And he wondered why his Father needed him to know it this clearly.

So he made the only choice which, in the end of all things that matter, he might ever have made. He chose Her. Even if it would always be a lie of freedom, he’d choose Her free will.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little “what if” of Lucifer having a different reaction to the miracle revelation.


End file.
